


routines

by nutm3g



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Jason is living in Gotham, M/M, are they physically fighting or is it just really rough foreplay?, in one of the smaller neighborhoods AWAY from everyone else lmao, very short mentions of the minor characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutm3g/pseuds/nutm3g
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason always watches him leave, though. Because Tim’s got a nice ass and anyone would be a fool not to watch him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	routines

**Author's Note:**

> Based around Jason's usual schedule/routine, and what (and WHO) he tends to do during it.

Jason wakes up, every day, and has a piping hot coffee to start the day. Sometimes he adds in a little liquor - some Bailey’s for a nice, nutty taste - or a lot, depending on whether or not he wakes up in a bad mood.

Most days, half of his coffee is made up of booze.

He takes a shower almost as hot as his coffee, but always lowers the temperature to make damn sure he stays awake. Sometimes he doesn’t, and lets himself relax for a few minutes. Again, that depends on his mood. If he’s pissed as all hell - pissed at the world, pissed at himself for waking up, pissed at whatever assholes he has to deal with over the course of the day - he leaves the water running cold and splashes it over his face, bares his teeth to the sharp chill of it on his skin, and practically scratches himself open when he runs the soap over his body.

After his shower, he wanders the crappy, little apartment ass-naked in search of some decent clothes, and always reminds himself to at least try to do some laundry.

Then, he’s out for the day.

He spends the day patrolling his parts of the city, _his_ city, tearing down “evildoers” and leaving body after body in his wake, because none of them deserve a second chance.

(Then again, he really didn’t deserve one either. See what happens when you get a second chance? You turn into a trigger-happy asshole. The world doesn’t need more than one Jason Todd.)

But he always, _always_ comes across those few people who remind him of himself, with that “I’ll do better” look in their eyes when he levels his gun to point it at their faces, and it burns in his throat. So he knocks them clean out with the butt of his gun, leaves them tied up and puts in an anonymous call to GCPD to have them picked up; all while he watches from some rooftop above, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted in a grimace because he can’t help but to think about how that’s what _Batman_ would do. Except with less firepower.

Afternoon turns to sunset, sunset to evening, when all the pretty pinks and purples and oranges in the sky begin to blend and fade to something darker, something that looks like it’s been splattered with white paint. Even though it can be pretty hard to see the stars in a busy place like Gotham most of the time.

Every night, Jason runs into someone he used to be just a little closer with, at least _one_ person, if not more. From Babs working from her clocktower, to Dick dressed up in his Nightwing uniform and babbling on about his current business in Gotham, to (ugh) Bruce of all people, who tends to either stare him down without even a greeting or try to talk him into going the rest of the night without using his guns - it’s always someone. If he’s unlucky, it’s Damian. He actively tries avoiding the devilspawn, mostly because he’s all grown-up now and looking almost as handsome as his daddy.

Occasionally, it’s Tim. Or, since they prefer not going by a first-name status with each other, _Red Robin._ And with every abrupt meeting of theirs, comes bruises. Blood. Uniforms torn here and there, split lips and knuckles, bruised jaws and curses flung from one side and--

“ _Oh, fuck.”_

Mostly they bang against whatever wall or rooftop they can get to without tearing each other apart first.

Jason refuses to let Tim top, even if he’s a-ok with letting someone get him down on all fours and fucking him senseless. It’s just not something he’s willing to give to the younger Robin, considering he’s still not happy about Tim being his replacement.

Tim doesn’t seem to mind it, as much as Jason wishes he would because, hey, putting up a fight for dominance is pretty sexy.

No, Tim’s perfectly fine with fucking himself on Jason’s fingers, perfectly fine with the burn that comes with the stretch of Jason’s cock spearing into him.

He moans loud, like he doesn’t care who hears them or who finds them, wraps his legs tight around Jason’s waist and squeezes ‘til Jason has to physically pry them loose before Tim constricts him in fucking half.

They rut against each other like filthy animals, panting into one another’s neck and biting their tongues to keep from saying the others name, but one always breaks. Usually, it’s Tim - who throws his head back and moans Jason’s name as if they’re lovers, the nails of his hands digging hard into the back of Jason’s neck and threatening to break the skin there.

Other times, it’s Jason groaning Tim’s name into the red teeth marks he always leaves on his neck while he fucks him into whatever surface they’re on hard enough to break it.

After they both cum, when they’re breathless and boneless and sated, they pry off of each other; wordlessly collect whatever clothing they’re missing without so much as a glance spared, and move to leave.

Jason always watches him leave, though. Because Tim’s got a nice ass and anyone would be a fool not to watch him go. Yeah. That’s a good reason.

If he’s lucky, Tim will peek back with something that looks like longing in those gleaming blue eyes before leaping off into the night.

Jason finishes his rounds for the evening and heads home, every night that he and Tim meet, and crawls into bed without bothering to eat or even undress properly.

And he thinks of that pretty face, those red lips stretching around his cock whenever they actually take it slow enough to suck each other off, the glint of lust flickering in his gorgeous eyes every time Jason hits his sweet spot. He falls asleep replaying the way Tim says his name in his head, fingers all curled in the thin blankets of his bed and wishing it were another body he could latch onto instead.

Sometimes, he doesn’t wake up so angry the next morning.

Maybe he should thank Tim for that.

 


End file.
